Photo Essay

This was not my idea, or plan! Who knew? Now I know, but it's too late, I think?

My wife left me to 'find herself' and with the boys out of school, I packed up and headed south. I can make mid six figures anywhere that has a decent commercial real estate market, so I settled on the Southeast Coast.

I asked a new client to refer me to a dentist and he says his guy has a bodacious hygienist and she makes going to the dentist 'a whole new experience'. So, he's right. Catherine is a spectacular Italian bomb-shell with legs up to there, raven hair, smashing tits, and stunning smile. After laughing and talking with her through a 'prophy' I was in love. Trouble was, she was the Mrs. of the dentist, and you don't want to piss that guy off while he is running that drill in your mouth.

So, I see her every three months and do a million dirty things to her in my mind between dental visits. Then I read one Sunday in the paper that the D.D.S. flipped his Ferrari Friday night and is dead as Hector. And, he has, get this, a female companion (dead also) with a Las Vegas address.

Well, schmuck that I am, I instantly start calculating the odds for winning the widow, and hey, it don't look so bad. I'm no Bobby Adonis, but I have 'my ways' and anyway, 'faint heart never fucked the up-stairs maid.' So, send flowers, card, visit the funeral home, which was mobbed, and didn't she look smashing in widow's weeds. Just your basic little black thing with black lace everywhere else. Maybe I sound like a heartless scheming bastard, and I don't deny it, but if you saw her piping her eye with her silk hanky and sniffing through the sermon, well who could blame me?

Remember the circumstances? The good doctor killed himself and his Las Vegas showgirl doing 100 plus, and that was just the vodka, while his brain was swimming in a soupy sea of illegal chemicals. As Catherine later shared her sorrow with me, and dished me all the dirt, she admitted that her funeral tears aside, she was mother-fuckering her deceased spouse through the whole spectacle.

Fast forward past my letter of condolence, e-mail dialogue, lunch(s), dinner(s), and about a hundred grand in 'travel & entertainment' expenses reported to the IRS as business related, to my honeymoon with Catherine. We spent a month naked in the islands and if you believe the old canard about sex with a goddess goes stale, well then, you were never there.

Did I mention that the deceased doctor of dentistry was well insured? Or, that he accumulated a fantastic collection of stuff during his very productive second decade in dentistry? Catherine sold the house, huge, and downsized to a mere mansion. I must admit that my work ethic suffered somewhat from my romantic pursuits and I went from a star producer to an also ran at the office. But hey, we had the cottage at the beach, a ski condo in the mountains, and Catherine loves Europe, so I had a lot on my mind.

One task that required attention was sorting out my predecessor's cool toys. A superb gun collection, coins, stamps, books, and more all purchased en masse as investments and stored in his 'vault'. This was a fancy version of the u-store-it units, but this was climate controlled with high security. People kept jewelry, furs, and other valuables and Jesus, was 'ours' filled with valuables. And, my job was to sort through all this 'stuff' as Catherine called it, and 'get rid it'. Did I mention that Catherine trusted me totally?

Here the plot thickens. Catherine was still pissed at the dead/ex, and with good reason. She wanted any sign of him gone so out went the boat, motor cycle, plus a whole set of cars. It was up to me, three years after he was dead and way past our first anniversary, mind you, to 'clean out the vault'.

So one Saturday as the lease was about to expire I went to the vault to take an inventory. Catherine had been here with me several times and I had noted the gun racks, and what looked like treasures to me. Lord, was I right about that, but not the kind I expected.

One cabinet had an exquisite collection of cameras. A couple dozen vintage German, Swiss, and Japanese cameras that I started to fondle and fiddle with. Opening the bookshelf door, I see what looks like a dozen leather photo albums. I pulled out the first one labeled No. 1 and opened it.

Now, check this out. I have not dwelt extensively on Catherine's appearance, but here she was laid out a la Marylyn Monroe and buck naked across a double page spread in a bound (damn if it wasn't Moroccan Leather) photo album. I gasped as it simply took my breath away! It grew labored, my stomach did flip-flops and my knees wobbled as I slumped to the floor with her nude picture in my hands.

I don't know how long I sat there mesmerized by her gorgeous nude photograph from, I guessed, ten years or more ago. Her hair was straighter and shorter and maybe she has added five wonderful pounds, but that was my wife all right. My hand trembled as I turned the page and I, no shit, closed my eyes. There she was, naked as the day she was born laid out in the Duchess of Alba pose that I had seen in Florence. She was nothing you can imagine, except her ex-husband had quite a taste for photography, and old masters, which helps. In volume No 1, Catherine was laid out in every classic nude pose from antiquity to Salvatore Dali. I had to change my shorts before going home, and I didn't have the energy afterward to look at any of the other eleven volumes. Truth is, I was afraid to, and at the same time, I wanted to savor them over time!

Which brings me back to that evening at home? Catherine was marinating some mystery fish that we were going eat, I swear to god, raw. I was hip to this, of course! Compared to some of the shit I had been through in order to marry Catherine, eating raw fish was a 'piece of cake' if you get my drift? Anyway, I was filled with tumescent rage when I walked through the door, and I had her, the real thing, naked and squealing in bed within minutes. For sure, you get all that?

I was/am insanely in love with Catherine. It's a Catch -- 22? I would be insane NOT to be in love with this Aphrodite, would I not? Therefore, being insanely in love with her is proof of my sanity! If you follow my logic, here?

No matter. I am the man in the 'ring', the gladiator (so to speak), the champion in the dance-of-hearts, so listen-up and learn. This could happen to you!

We love the sweet after-glow, that semi-conscious state of bliss preceding the Chinese delivery and late night TV. These were actually the very best of times. We laughed, drank wine, ate (food), smoked, and made fun of the TV/books/bosses/customers/life/et al. All this with a splendidly naked woman in bed. And folks wonder why I am a 'Believer'!

Of necessity, there is a worm in the apple of life. I have these photographs of Catherine that roar through my head like a freight train. And there are eleven unexplored volumes that I can't think about without busting out with a woody. By opening time the next morning, I'm back at the vault, ready to continue my 'inventory'. Oh, Jesus!

I kid you not, my hand trembled and my prick leaked as I reached into the cabinet and carefully extracted volume No. 2. My hands were all clammy and I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my neck. I was in a trance! I sat down Indian style, held No. 2 on my lap, and slowly opened the front cover. Damn me, if I didn't close my eyes, again?

Well, there she was on the beach in a tiny yellow bikini and sun-visor. She looked adorable, as if she were doing a suntan lotion commercial. It was just a great photo of a beautiful woman with waves breaking in the background. I thought about how it would look on my desk at the office. My trophy wife!

Feeling calmer now, I turned the next few pages which were more of Catherine on the beach, in the dunes, under the trees, in the water, on a boat. Great shots, all of them. This was very good stuff. Then the photos began to collect additional people, mostly young guys eye balling Catherine in what appeared to be a beach volley ball game. Seeing the lusty glances, frozen in still shots, which these guys were casting Catherine's way started to make me sweat again. But the sparkling smiles, casual contact, and batting eyes that Catherine was throwing back at them gave me a growing chubby. She was the center of attention of maybe 10 guys, practically naked, and clearly loving it! Me too.

At this point, I felt like a perfectly normal pervert doing 'due diligence' on my wife's life prior to my arrival on the scene. But that was going to change. The next page, and the last third of the book, 12 photos, were all of Catherine in the water with several of her volley ball chums. They were splashing, dunking, wrestling, and pretty much feeling up my wife. I counted a total of 5 guys in the 12 photos of which Catherine was the center piece, if you will, of each one. She was beautiful and having a great time letting these guys maul her like young cubs at play. In the last photo, a handsome young Latino about 16 was waving her bikini top in the air while his, apparently, twin brother held her bikini bottom just out of Catherine's reach. She was standing waist deep, the frothy ocean water partially obscuring her bush, with her breasts heaving from her exertions, nipples taut, and a radiant laugh bursting forth from her wide open smile! This was a new experience for me, and I liked it.

I was so worked up by this time I had to relieve myself. Took about ten seconds. I was then torn between rushing home and boning Catherine or pulling out No. 3. I decided that I shouldn't waste another orgasm without Catherine so off I went to find her. Driving home deep in contemplation, I tried to understand the dynamics of the situation.

For one thing, I realized that Catherine's deceased spouse was one hell of a photographer. The camera collection, the Moroccan Leather photo album, and the superb artistry of the photographs convinced me that he was really into it. And a bit twisted, because he obviously loved taking Catherine's pictures in a lot of situations, buck naked in the ocean with two Latino teenagers being the most arresting, so far? God only knew what the next volumes would reveal? I had to know!

Catherine was walking out the front door dressed to kill when I drove up. After a brief debate, and several promises on my part, I gave her the business right there on the living room sofa, and we didn't spill drop. A promise kept! After a short round of cunnilingus to bring on an encore orgasm, another promise kept, and Catherine was out the door without even having to redo her make-up. I just love that girl.

I was so spent I straggled up the stairs and crashed. I had some plans for us that night and, Christ, I needed the rest. But no, I couldn't stop thinking of those pictures, and an hour later I'm back at the vault pulling out No 3. It starts out with, you guessed it, Catherine. This time at what looks like a luau with torch light, dancing, and Catherine looking fabulous in a short, short white skirt and tank top with killer cum-fuck-me shoes.

I turned the page and, oops, there is one of the twins from the ocean scene, but this time in a Hawaiian shirt and tennis shorts. Oh, now they're dancing, and dancing very close. Catherine has her hand on the back of his neck and giving him this dreamy look. I flip through several of these 'romantic' pictures right out of Hollywood 'stills' when, oh shit, all these pictures are of Catherine and both of the teenage boys. I flip back and forth and realize that Catherine is flirting outrageously with two youngsters that I could only tell apart because they had on different types of sneakers. Otherwise, each was a clone of the other. Twins, get it?

Oh jeez, and now Catherine is kissing white-sneakers full in the mouth on a veranda. And more, and more of that; a dozen pages of them kissing at closer and closer range, when it hit me that each picture, more intimate than the previous, was of Catherine with different boys. She was taking turns; every other photo was Catherine consuming 'neck-scar' and the next would be shoulder-mole. By the end of the book (36 photos) Catherine had his, or rather both of their shirts off and was licking their chests and kissing them with abandoned (drunken?) zeal. I lunged for Volume No 4.

The scene had moved indoors on page one. Catherine was slow dancing one of the twins in what looked like a hotel suite. By now I could distinguish the two boys and named them Juan & Miguel. Ole Juan seemed to be the most aggressive because by page three Catherine's blouse is open and by page six she is dancing topless & solo for the camera with Juan stripped to the waist and watching. By page ten they are all three dancing and Catherine in just her panties with J&M in boxer shorts. She looked fabulous and was obviously having a great time, while J&M had tents poking out with erections. As I carefully turned the pages I watched Juan help my Cathy slip off her panties, then she returns the favor by getting on her knees and pulling down Juan's boxers.

The last photo showed Juan's, oops, no Miguel's prick spring forth right in front of Cathy's surprised and laughing face. They both seemed delighted! Where was Juan?

I was sitting there in shock with No 4 closed in my lap, hands sweating, heart pounding, stomach flip-flopping, and my third orgasm of the day seeping through my jeans. It was good!

You may guess that I pulled out No 5 right then, but no, I was spent---------and eager to get home to Catherine. Plus, I wanted to savor No 5 which I have since named the BJ Volume, but I'm getting 'ahead' of myself. First, there was my wife to deal with and man, was I ready to deal with some of her. I was waiting for her when she walked in the door and I had her buck naked again before she could go upstairs. Her beautiful bare fanny wiggled delightfully as she skittered up the stairs with me in hot pursuit with, glory be, my forth boner of the day. Catherine was surprised and thrilled that I had her feet waving in the air just about five hours since our lunchtime tryst. Little did she suspect that this was # 4 for me that day, counting the solo jobs at the 'vault'!

You know where this is going? After all, I was about to bust wanting to talk to Catherine about the photo albums, but I was afraid she would freak-out and take them away before I could enjoy the rest of the collection. And how do you bring it up to her, anyway?

"Hey Hon, I was going through your ex's photo albums and guess what?" No, I'm much too shy to tell her that I have been jerking off looking at her nude pics with her Latino lovers. Also, I was still between No 4 and No 5 and had not seen any actual penetration or bodily fluids exchanged, yet! But I suspected that was cumming in No 5, and that kept my mouth shut and hers filled with my cock, for ta-daa, my fifth round of the day. Catherine was very impressed, and so grateful! Did I mention that she is 15 years younger than me?

The next morning I stood trembling before the cabinet and carefully took volume No 5 down from the shelf. I sat down on a folding chair that I brought and gingerly opened it to the first page, then let out a loud groan. We started off exactly where we left off in No 4. Cathy, nude and on her knees in front of Juan, (or was it Miguel?) staring at his young, hard, trembling cock (with ropy veins) arching up at 45 degrees from his flat stomach. Its engorged purple head was only inches from Cathy's face! She had on a shit-eating grin and one thumb-and-fore finger tugging on her nipple while her other hand coyly fingered her bush.

No contact, I thought! Maybe she just liked to ------------, I flipped the page and cringed to see a clear drop of pre-come clinging to the tip of Juan's enraged cock which was securely in the grip of Catherine's dainty manicured hand. Her tongue was pointed and thrust out only a smidgen of an inch from the shimmering droplet mounted on the bulging prick. It seemed as if she was holding a pose for a photo op, which I guess she was! I quickly flipped to the next page and moaned as I took in the scene.

Catherine's tongue was still pointed but now lodged delicately in his pisser! The clear droplet was gone and she held his prick in one hand and his balls in the other. As I very slowly turned the pages I watched Juan's cock turning wet and shiny as Catherine's tongue bathed it with tender licks and kisses. The purple bulbous head slowly disappeared, and then the ropy veined shaft, into her mouth and down her throat. I had my own prick out and in my hand when I turned the page and saw her startled wide-eyed look as Juan exploded in her mouth and I in my hand. I jerked my prick and rapidly turned the pages to see Cathy wrestling with the teenager's wildly spouting cock, capturing as much of the geyser as she could while thick ropes of semen escaped her wide open giggling mouth, landing on her face, neck, and breast!

Christ! That was the last page of No. 5. I was exhausted as I staggered out of the 'vault' and drove home. However, the image of Catherine sucking Juan's, or was it Miguel's, prick kept dancing through my brain. By the time I got home my cock was stirring and I knew it would be ready when Catherine came home for lunch.

My WIFE bounced in to the house with an arm load of shopping bags! We weren't 'rich' but Catherine could pretty much buy all the clothes that she wanted. I leaped on her and was nuzzling her neck and feeling her ass when she commented that 'Mr. Happy' seemed glad to 'see her'? With that, she had my cock out in an instant and in her mouth the next. I was in heaven watching her suck my cock while thinking about Juan, or was it Miguel, getting the same treatment 'back in the day'. Having been drained dry during the last few days, I didn't cream in her mouth immediately, which she noticed.

Catherine grabbed my prick and, while pulling off her clothes, led me toward the first floor guest room. She was naked on the guest bed and up on all fours in a flash. "Come on, lover, ride me like a cowboy," she cooed. Well, I was mounted and galloping full speed in her pussy in seconds, but, you may not believe this, my mind was thinking, 'cowboy'?

You see, Catherine and her ex were into horses and had vacationed often at a dude ranch in Wyoming. Maybe I'm paranoid, but hey, pictures don't lie. I was sliding in and out of her tight, velvet, slippery snatch and loving every second of it when to my surprise, I grunted, "so, you like fucking cowboys, don't you baby"?

I was shocked when she squealed, "Yes, yes, yes, fuck me cowboy! I love fucking cowboys, fuck me harder, give it to me cowboy." This was just what the doctor ordered, because I started coming and so did she. I plunged franticly into her as she let out a whoop and I yodeled, "Yippee kai yi aye, get along little doggee!" It may sound corny to you now, but you weren't there. I was, and it was great!

Catherine and I fell asleep in the guest bed. I dreamed about Juan & Miguel and she dreamed about ----- cowboys, I suppose. When I woke up several hours later, she was gone and I had a hard-on. Can you believe it? I'm forty 'something' with the libido of a teenager. Life is good, I thought.

I 'laid-off' going to the vault for two whole days. I told myself that I needed to rest my prick a little, but truth be told, I wanted to savor the next volume and not 'rush the job'. But, I couldn't avoid the vision of Catherine wrestling with that kid's cock as it splashed all over her face and titties! Plus, I still kept thinking about "ride me like a cowboy, lover". Her stories about horses, riding, and Wyoming kept stampeding through my brain. So, there I was, again, taking volume No. 6 down from the shelf as I plopped down in my easy chair for another trip down fantasy lane, except, of course, this was not a fantasy. It was my WIFE! Did I mention that I had renewed the lease and bought a more comfy chair?